"What's wrong, dearie?" questioned the parson, as Nellie paused and a deep flush suffused her face.

"The Frenelle homestead is to be sold."

"What! do I understand you aright? Peter Frenelle's farm, that fine property which he left free of debt when he died?"

"Yes, it's only too true. You know there has been a heavy mortgage on it for several years, and as the interest has not been paid for some time the mortgage has been foreclosed, and the place is to be sold."

"Dear me, dear me," and the parson leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as he always did when in deep thought. "It's bad management, that's what it is. Stephen has had a splendid start, and through carelessness he has let everything go to ruin."

"Father, don't blame Stephen too much. He's only young, and had a great responsibility placed upon his shoulders after his father's death."

"Blame him! Blame him! Why should I blame anyone?" and the parson placed his hand to his forehead. "Stephen is as dear to me as my own son--and I love him. But, oh, it is hard to see my old friend's farm go to others. I have talked with Stephen time and time again. But he has not taken the right grip of life. Poor Mrs. Frenelle, her heart must be broken. And Nora, that dear invalid girl, how hard for her."

Nellie made no reply to her father's words. She sat looking into the fire.

Tears were in her eyes and her heart was heavy. Everything had seemed so bright but a short time before, and now this dark cloud had arisen. Oh, if Stephen would only bestir himself. They had known each other from childhood. He had always been her hero. As a child her day-dreams and fancies were woven about him. And as years advanced their love for each other had increased. It was the natural blending of two souls which had gradually and silently grown together in the bright sunshine of happy youth.

A knock upon the door at the side of the house startled her. At once she arose to ascertain its meaning, and shortly returned.

"Father," she said, "Billy Fletcher is very sick, and wishes to see you."

"Who brought word, my dear?"

"Hugh Peters. He called to see the old man as he was coming down the road, and found him quite ill."

The effect of this message was quite magical. No longer was Parson John the quiet fireside reader, but the true sympathetic pastor. He laid aside his pipe, and at once arose from his comfortable chair. An expression of loving concern overspread Nellie's face as she a.s.sisted him on with his storm coat, and procured his cap, mittens and overshoes. But no word of remonstrance came from her lips, no urging him to put off his visit until the morning. From a child she had been accustomed to these sudden calls to the side of departing parishioners, to read the Word of life and at times to administer the Holy Communion.

Her father's step was slow as of one much wearied, though his voice was cheery and strong as he bade his daughter good-bye, seized the small lantern she had lighted for him, and stepped out into the cold night on his mission of love.

Chapter IV

The Warder of the Night

After her father's departure, Nellie sat before the fire engaged upon some needlework. Occasionally her hands rested in her lap, while she gazed thoughtfully into the bright blaze. The soft light from the shaded lamp fell athwart her wealth of dark-brown hair and fair face. Her long lashes drooped as she leaned back in an easy-chair, and let her mind wander to the days when she and Stephen played together as happy children. What bright dreams were theirs, and how many fairy palaces they erected in the far unknown future.

A movement in the cosy-corner roused her from her reverie. She glanced quickly in that direction and saw Dan sitting bolt upright, gazing intently upon her. Nellie smiled as she saw his look of wonder mingled with embarra.s.sment.

"Have you had a nice sleep?" she asked.

"Guess so," came the slow reply. "I dreamed that you and my father were right by my side, but when I woke he was gone and only you are with me."

"I hope you will like it here," Nellie remarked, hardly knowing what to say. "We want to make you happy, and love you just like our own little boy."

"I'm almost a man now," and Dan straightened up his shoulders and proudly threw back his head. "I can hunt and work. See how strong I am," and he placed his right hand upon the muscle of his doubled-up left arm.

"Some day you will be as big as my father, won't you?" replied Nellie, much amused at the st.u.r.dy lad.

"Was that your father who brought me here?"

"Yes."

"And what's his name?"

"Mr. Westmore. But most people call him 'Parson John.' You'll call him that, too, won't you? He likes it better."

"Yes; if you want me to, I will. But, say, what's your name?"

"Oh, mine's just Nellie, Nellie Westmore. Not very pretty, is it?"

"I think it is. Do you know that was my mother's name--Nellie, I mean, not the other one."

"And do you remember your mother, Dan?"

"Only a little. She was good and pretty, just like you."

"Tell me about her, will you? I should like to hear."

And there in the quietness of that room Dan's tongue was unloosed, and in his own simple way he told about his mother, her death, and how he and his father had lived together in the little log shanty. Half an hour pa.s.sed in this quiet talk, and when at length Dan ceased Nellie glanced at the clock.

"Why, I didn't think it was so late! It is time you were in bed. You must be tired. Come, I will show you where you are to sleep to-night, and to-morrow we will fix up a room for your very own."

Going to the kitchen Nellie lighted a small lamp, and with this in her hand she and Dan went up the small winding stairway.

"This is the place," and she opened a door leading to a room at the north of the house. "The pipe from the hall stove comes up there, so it's always quite warm. I do hope you will sleep well."

She went to the window to draw down the blind and as she did so a light fell upon her eyes which gave her a distinct start. It was not from the moon, for the night was dark, but from a burning building, a short distance up the road. The flames were leaping and curling through the roof, sending up blazing cinders in every direction.

Nellie's heart almost stopped beating as she gazed upon the scene. It was Billy Fletcher's house! and what of her father? Was he amidst those flames, or had he escaped?

"Dan, Dan!" she cried, turning to the lad, "Come, quick! I'm afraid that something terrible has happened! Get on your coat and cap as quickly as possible and let's make haste!"

It did not take them long to throw on their wraps, and to hurry forth into the night.

To Nellie the distance seemed never-ending. Would they ever reach the house? How the road had lengthened! and her breath came hard and fast as she staggered forward, trying to keep pace with the more hardy lad. The light of the fire illumined the road for some distance around, and guided their steps. Drawing near they could discover no one about the place. What did it all mean? Here Nellie paused and with wildly beating heart looked at the seething ma.s.s before her, and listened to the roar of the flames as they sent up their wild flamboyant tongues into the air. Had her father been entrapped in that terrible furnace? She glanced towards a barn on her right and as she did so her eyes fell upon a sight never to be forgotten.

Someone was there, kneeling in the snow with bent head gazing intently upon some object before him. It was her father! and with a cry of joy Nellie rushed forward. She found he was kneeling by Billy Fletcher's side, supporting his head, and carefully wrapping around him his own great-coat.

He looked up and an expression of relief came into his face as he saw his daughter standing there.

"I am so glad you have come," he exclaimed. "Poor Billy's in a bad way. We need help. He must be taken to some house. I wish you would hurry up the road for a.s.sistance. Dan will go with you. Get his nephew Tom as quickly as possible."

Waiting to hear no more, Nellie, fatigued though she was, started at once for a.s.sistance, Dan following close behind. They had gone only a short distance, however, when they met Tom himself running along the road.

"What's wrong?" he gasped.

"Don't you see?" Nellie replied. "The house is burning down."